


The Christmas Angel

by TessAlyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff and Smut, Gabriel is up to his usual tricks, Happy Ending, Humor, Idiots in Love, Kid Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Single Parent Dean Winchester, tropes galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessAlyn/pseuds/TessAlyn
Summary: Single father Dean Winchester and his twin sons take in a mysterious stranger who crashes into their lives a few days before Christmas. The man calls himself Castiel, and there’s something about him that’s not… quite human. Will Dean ever discover Castiel’s true identity? More importantly, will he be able to open his mind (and heart) to new possibilities?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 96
Collections: Destiel LifeMark Bang





	1. Chapter 1

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/191511793@N06/50742571032)

“Dad.”

“Mmmph.”

“ _Dad_.”

“Hmrf.”

“Dad, wake up.”

Slowly and reluctantly, Dean pulls himself out of dreamland and cracks open one eye. His twin sons are standing side by side next to his bed, staring at him.

“Gah!” Dean yelps. “You guys gotta stop doing that! I feel like I’m in _The Shining_.” He sits up, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and glances at the clock. 12:03 AM.

“What’s wrong?” he says, more awake now. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“No, Dad,” Jack says seriously. “Me and Ben were sleeping and then we heard a big _boom_!”

“It’s probably Santa!” Ben says, jumping up and down. 

“It’s not Santa,” Jack tells his brother. “It’s not Christmas Eve yet.”

“Maybe it’s elves,” Ben suggests. “Or Mrs. Claus! Let’s go, I wanna see!”

Dean groans. “You guys are imagining things. You had way too much sugar last night.”

“No, Dad, I swear—”

There’s a noise over their heads. A creaky, thumping noise. It sounds like someone’s walking on the roof. 

Dean stares up at the ceiling. “What the fuck,” he mutters.

Jack gasps. “Dad! That’s a _very_ bad word!”

“Sorry.” Dean heaves himself out of bed. “You guys stay here. I’m gonna go see what’s up. It’s probably just a tree branch. Either that or the squirrels finally unionized.”

“I wanna come, too,” Ben whines.

“No. You stay here with your brother.”

Ben pouts but does as he’s told. “If you see Santa, tell him I changed my mind about the roller blades. I want hockey skates instead.”

“You got it,” Dean says distractedly, shoving his feet into his slippers and grabbing his phone. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

* * *

It’s bitterly cold outside. Dean curses as a gust of icy wind hits his face, and walks out into the yard to get a better view of the roof. Their house is on the east side of Lawrence in a quiet neighborhood, mostly filled with old people and families. Not the sort of place someone would think to rob. It’s probably just some drunk teenagers playing a prank.

Dean squints upward. It’s pretty dark, but he can see something crouched on the roof. A human-shaped something. And it’s moving.

Definitely not teenagers.

“Hey!” Dean yells, and the thing on the roof freezes instantly. “Listen, buddy! I don’t know who the hell you are or what the hell you’re doing, but you got exactly three seconds to get off my roof before I call the cops!”

The man (at least Dean _thinks_ it’s a man) slowly rises to his feet. It’s hard to see details, but it looks like he’s wearing a trenchcoat. He stares down at Dean, head slightly tilted as though he’s curious.

“I’m gonna count to three,” Dean shouts. “One. Two—”

The man takes a step forward, which is a really stupid thing to do on an icy, slanted rooftop, but apparently this doofus didn’t get the memo. Sure enough, his foot slips out from under him, and with a startled cry, the man falls flat on his back and starts sliding downward.

“Hey!” Dean yells again. Without conscious thought, he starts running towards the house.

The man hits the edge of the roof and rolls off, dragging a string of multicolored Christmas lights with him. He lands in the bushes with a crash, icicles cascading down on top of him, snow flying up in powdery puffs.

Dean skids to a stop just as the front door creaks open. Two little heads poke out.

“Dad!” Jack cries. “What happened?”

“Is it Santa?” Ben asks. “Did you kill him?”

“No, I didn’t kill Santa,” Dean says, exasperated. There’s no sound or movement from the bushes, which probably means the guy’s knocked out. “Ben, go bring me the big yellow flashlight.”

Ben races back inside. Jack stays where he is.

“Is it a monster, Dad?”

“No.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Just some idiot who had too much to drink, probably.”

“Is it Grandpa Bobby?”

Dean snorts. “No, it’s not Grandpa Bobby. Even he’s not that dumb.”

Ben returns with the flashlight. Dean takes it, then sends him back to the front steps to wait with Jack. It’s no good asking the boys to go inside; this is too interesting for them to resist. Dean has to admit he’s pretty curious himself.

“Okay,” he mutters, and turns on the flashlight. “Don’t try anything funny, pal.”

He pulls a few branches aside and shines the beam down into the bushes. Their rooftop visitor is sprawled against the side of the house, wrapped in a tangle of blinking bulbs, eyes closed. He looks around thirty-five or forty with dark hair and stubble, and he’s wearing a suit and tie underneath his trenchcoat. He’s dressed like an _accountant_ , not a burglar. What the hell?

“Hey,” Dean says. He reaches out and gingerly pokes the guy in the shoulder. “You alive, buddy?”

The man’s eyes suddenly snap open. Dean gasps and jerks his hand back. The man blinks up at him, face half in shadow.

“Hello,” he says in an impossibly deep, gravelly voice. “My name is Castiel.”

* * *

Dean isn’t sure what to do. He _should_ call the cops, or at least an ambulance. The guy probably has a head injury and a few broken bones. But when Dean asks him if he can sit up, Castiel does so without a single wince or groan. That’s definitely not normal. Is he in shock, maybe?

Then Castiel rises to his feet, smoothly, almost robotically, and that’s when Dean starts to think that maybe this guy isn’t exactly like other people. No one falls off the roof of a two-story house without getting a scratch. It’s not natural.

“Are you Superman?” Ben asks, jumping down from the front steps and approaching the stranger.

“Ben, stay back,” Dean warns.

“Superman?” Castiel repeats, looking down at Ben with that same head tilt from earlier. “No.”

“Are you Batman?” Jack pipes up. “Or Spiderman?”

“No.”

“Then what are you?”

Castiel frowns and looks down at himself. “I’m… just a man, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m Jack and this is my brother Ben,” Jack says. “We’re both seven, but I’m the oldest.”

“Ten minutes!” Ben yells. This is a huge sore spot between them. “You’re only _ten minutes_ older!”

“Guys,” Dean says tiredly. The late hour and the cold are rapidly sapping his energy. He turns to Castiel. “Look, buddy, you got a phone? Or a wallet? Any form of ID?”

Castiel searches all the pockets in his coat and trousers. Nothing. This is getting weirder by the minute. Dean sighs, thinking longingly of his warm, comfortable bed. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks.

A pause.

“Falling,” Castiel says softly. “I remember falling.”

“Falling from where?”

“I... don’t know.”

“He _is_ Superman,” Ben says with awe. “He falled from the sky and now we have to adopt him!”

“No one’s adopting anybody,” Dean says, irritated. He turns back to Castiel. “Look, dude. You’ve obviously had some kind of head injury, and that’s probably why you can’t remember anything after you fell. It’s late and it’s cold and I have to be up in about five hours, so why don’t you come inside and I’ll make you up a bed on the couch. Just for tonight,” he adds hastily. “I’ll ask the sheriff to come by tomorrow morning, and she can help you figure things out. How’s that sound?”

Castiel gazes at him for a long moment, head tilted. His eyes are blue, Dean realizes for the first time. Like, _insanely_ blue. It almost looks like they’re glowing. Dean shivers.

“You are kind,” Castiel says slowly. “You and the children. Very kind. I will be safe with you, I think. I accept your offer.”

Jack and Ben cheer. “You’ll definitely be safe here,” Ben says, darting forward before Dean can stop him. “We have a nice house and it’s really warm and we have a fireplace and there’s lots of toys.” He grabs Castiel’s hand and starts tugging him towards the front door.

“Ben,” Dean admonishes. “Don’t pull on him, it’s not polite.”

“It’s all right,” Castiel says, turning those blue, blue eyes on him. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do.” Dean takes Ben by the shoulders and pries him off Castiel. “Hey, you and Jack go get stuff to make a bed on the couch, okay?”

“Okay!”

The boys race back into the house, leaving Dean to escort their visitor rather awkwardly up the front steps.

“What is your name?” Castiel asks as they step inside.

“Dean.”

“Dean,” the man repeats, as if trying it out. “Thank you for your hospitality, Dean.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Jack and Ben thunder back downstairs. “Here you go!” Ben says, beaming. “You can have my Iron Man pillow, he’ll keep you safe. But I want it back later.”

“You can have my Captain America blanket,” Jack offers.

Castiel shoots Dean a bemused look. Dean shrugs. “They like superheroes.”

“I see.” Castiel accepts the boys’ gifts politely, then stands there with his arms full of Marvel bedding, as though he’s not sure what to do next. To be honest, Dean isn’t either.

“Here,” Jack says, breaking the awkward silence. “You have to make your bed. I’ll show you.” He pulls the bedding out of Castiel’s arms.

“Dad, he needs pajamas!” Ben exclaims.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. God, he’s so tired. “Go grab one of my t-shirts and some sweatpants.”

“Okay!”

“I don’t wish to cause you inconvenience,” Castiel murmurs.

“Pretty sure you caused me inconvenience the second you fell on my roof,” Dean mutters, and starts helping Jack make the bed. “Tuck the corners in, buddy. Yeah, like that. Good job.”

“Are you the father of these children?” Castiel inquires.

“Yep, he’s our dad!” Jack says. “He fixes cars and he makes really good macaroni and cheese and reads us stories.”

“I see,” Castiel replies. “And where is your mate, Dean?”

Dean tenses up. “My what?”

“Your mate,” Castiel repeats. “Life partner. Spouse.”

“Don’t have one,” Dean says shortly. “Just me.”

“Our mommy’s dead,” Jack informs him, and Dean wants to sink into the floor.

“Oh.” Castiel’s face is grave. “I’m sorry. That must be very difficult.”

“Yeah.” Jack pauses, thinking. “I miss her.”

Dean’s throat tightens. It’s been almost three years since the accident, but it still hurts to hear those words.

“I’m sure you do,” Castiel says gently.

“But we have Dad,” Jack says, sounding more cheerful. “And Uncle Sam and Aunt Eileen, and Patience and Miss Moseley, and Grandma Ellen and Grandpa Bobby and Jo, and lots and lots of friends. So we’re gonna be okay.”

“Bed’s made,” Dean says, too loudly, just as Ben returns with a t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“Here’s your pajamas!” he says, shoving them at Castiel, who takes them with the same bewildered look as before. “You wear them for sleeping,” Ben adds helpfully.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says. “Now, you guys need to go back to bed. No arguments.”

The boys whine a little, but they’re obviously tired too, because it only takes a single Dad Look™ from Dean before they’re trudging upstairs. 

“I’ll be up in a sec to tuck you in,” Dean calls, then turns back to his unexpected guest. “Whoa, hey!”

Apparently Castiel is not body-shy at _all_ , because he’s already taken off his coat, shirt, and tie while Dean’s back was turned. He’s now just standing there, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his pants, looking puzzled by Dean’s reaction.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

Dean can’t answer for a second, because holy _crap_ that’s a lot of skin. And muscle. And tan. And—

“No,” he blurts out, his face burning. “Just— maybe you wanna change in the bathroom? For privacy?”

“Oh.” Castiel blinks. “Of course. My apologies.” He picks up the sleepwear. “Where is it?”

“Down the hall, first door on your right.”

Castiel turns and starts walking away, and Dean nearly chokes.

Tattoos. Giant black wings are tattooed on the guy’s shoulder blades, rippling with his every movement. They’re so detailed, every feather defined, that they almost look real. 

Oh, and his ass? Fucking _perfect_.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, passing a hand over his eyes. “What is _happening_?”

* * *

He wakes up at 5:30, confused and disoriented. _I dreamed it,_ he thinks. _I dreamed a hot guy crash-landed on my roof and I let him sleep on the couch._ Well, it’s not the weirdest thing he’s ever dreamed.

Dean makes himself get up, groaning at all the pops and cracks. He really should take up yoga again, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It reminds him too much of Lisa.

He stumbles downstairs, intending to go into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker, but then he catches sight of his couch and stops dead in the doorway. 

Castiel is still there, his wild dark hair sticking out from under the covers, face smoothed out in sleep.

So... _not_ a dream. 

Dean tries to move quietly, but because the early morning gods have seen fit to punish him for some unknown crime, he steps on one of the boys’ stuffed animals, which immediately flashes to life and starts gyrating around on the floor, singing “YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND!” at the top of its tinny voice box.

Dean curses and kicks the stupid thing away, but it’s too late. Castiel’s eyes blink open, and son of a _bitch_ , he’s even more gorgeous in the light. 

“Sorry,” Dean croaks, tugging his bathrobe more tightly around himself. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s all right,” Castiel says, and of course he sounds more gorgeous too, all deep and raspy with sleep. Dean is _not_ awake enough for this. “I slept well.”

“Good. That’s good.” Dean shifts his weight. “You, uh… want some coffee?”

A slight frown. “Are you having some?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I will, too.” He sits up, the covers falling off him, and oh God, he’s wearing Dean’s shirt and it’s _tight_ on him. The thin white fabric clings to his biceps and shoulders, and if Dean squints he can see his nipples through— _stop it! Stop it NOW!_

“Cool.” Dean backs away and bumps into a bookshelf, making it sway dangerously. “I’ll just, uh… get that started.”

* * *

Dean ends up not going into work. Jody wants him there as a witness when she questions Castiel, and he’s so tired from last night’s escapades that it just makes more sense to stay home, especially since the boys are off school, anyway. This way he can give Patience a break from babysitting, plus clean the house, which is a complete disaster after all the baking and decorating yesterday.

He calls Bobby and explains the situation. Bobby, of course, chews him out for not calling the cops, but after Dean tells him that Jody’s on her way over, he calms down and gives Dean the day off.

“And don’t worry about using your PTO,” he says gruffly. “Consider it a Christmas gift.”

“Getting soft in your old age, Singer?” Dean teases.

“Shut up, ya idjit. You know I can still kick your ass.”

By the time he gets off the phone, Jack and Ben have woken up and gone straight into the kitchen. Dean pokes his head around the door to find them both babbling at Castiel, who is listening with a level of focus normally reserved for brain surgery.

Ben is swiping through photos on the family tablet (“That’s my dad when he was little! He catched a big fish! I went fishing with Grandpa Bobby this summer but I didn’t catch anything. Do you like fishing?”) Jack is showing him the sugar cookies they decorated last night, and while Castiel might be a little weird and awkward, he must also have nerves of steel, because he manages to bite into a cookie coated in three inches of frosting without making a face. He just chews thoughtfully and swallows, then takes a big gulp of coffee when Jack looks away.

Grinning to himself, Dean walks into the kitchen. “Hey, you chuckleheads eat anything for breakfast besides cookies?”

“No,” Jack and Ben say at the same time, then start giggling.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Eat some cereal, okay? Or Eggos. I ain’t paying for dentures until you’re at least ten.”

“Can you make scrambled eggs, Dad?”

“Not today.” Dean looks at the batter-crusted mixing bowls, globs of frosting, spilled flour, and burnt baking pans, and holds back a groan. He’s so tired of cleaning up messes. “Eat some real food and then you can go play. Deal?”

“Deal!” Jack gets up to fetch the cereal.

Castiel also stands up, carefully brushing cookie crumbs off his (Dean’s) sweatpants. “Can I be of assistance in any way?”

“Nah, you’re fine.” Dean’s already filling the sink with hot, soapy water. “You might want to get dressed, though. Sheriff’s gonna be here in about half an hour.” He turns back to the sink and starts washing silverware.

There’s silence for a few moments. Dean assumes Castiel’s gone off to change clothes, so he’s startled when a second pair of hands appear at the sink.

“Dude,” Dean says, annoyed. “I got it. You’re a guest, you don’t help.”

Castiel pauses to look at him, head tilted, and he is _not_ adorable, he’s _not_. “I fell on your roof in the middle of the night and frightened you and your children greatly. Yet you still took me into your home and gave me shelter. Please allow me to assist you with this task, Dean. It’s the least I can do to repay you.”

Dean feels his protests dwindle away under those earnest blue eyes. “Fine,” he mutters, feeling his face heat. “I’ll wash, you rinse.”

“Thank you.” Castiel takes a handful of silverware out of the soapy water and begins rinsing it off. Dean watches him for a second, then goes back to scrubbing.

“I wasn’t _frightened_ , y’know, ” he says. “Just startled.”

“Of course.” Castiel’s mouth quirks. 

“I’m actually like, really brave.”

“I’m sure you are, Dean.”

“See, now I think you’re mocking me.”

“I would never.”

Dean pauses and points the scrub brush at Castiel. “Only a true badass can handle two baby poop explosions in one night without breaking a sweat. That’s all I’m saying.”

Immediately, he wants to smack himself in the face. _Baby poop? Way to keep it classy, Winchester._

But Castiel just smiles. “Parenting is a very admirable occupation. And you are doing it alone, which is even more admirable.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean coughs. “That part wasn’t by choice.”

He waits for the questions that always come— at work, on dates, in line at the damn bank. _What happened? How long ago? How are the boys coping? Where do you find the strength? Will you ever get remarried?_

But Castiel asks none of these things, just continues to rinse dishes and stack them in the drainer. Maybe he doesn’t care enough to ask. And why would he? Dean and Ben and Jack are strangers to Castiel, just a pit stop on the bizarre trip he’s taking. Here today, gone tomorrow.

They finish the dishes in silence, but it’s an oddly comfortable one. Dean’s reminded of how much more quickly things get done with two people. It’s nice. He slips into a daydream where he and Castiel meet under normal circumstances— at work, online, maybe at a bar— and instantly hit it off. Cas wouldn’t be freaked out by a widower with twins, or the fact that Dean used to be married to a woman. That’s a surprising hangup for a lot of guys. Most seem to think that Dean’s just using them as a substitute until he finds a “real” mother for his kids. As if someone’s gender dictates their ability to be a good parent, or a good partner.

Cas wouldn’t do that. Cas would take one look at Dean and his awesome kids and hop aboard the Commitment Express with no hesitation. Dean imagines a lifetime of moments like this— standing next to each other at the sink, cuddled together on the couch, taking road trips with the boys, and when did he become such a romantic sap? That’s Sam’s job, not his.

“So… those tattoos,” Dean says, mainly to distract himself from a vision of Cas rolling out pie crust, because that’s venturing into pornographic territory and he’d really rather not go there while his kids are in the room. “Pretty awesome. Where’d you get ’em done?”

Cas’ movements falter for a split second. “I… I don’t remember.”

“I’m all done,” Jack announces, setting his spoon and empty cereal bowl next to Dean. 

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says. “And good job putting your dishes up on the counter. That’s a big help.”

“You’re welcome,” Jack chirps. “Can I go play now?”

“Yeah, you can go play now.”

“Can Castiel come, too? I want to show him my marble track.”

“I’ll come see it in a few minutes,” Castiel promises. “I’m helping your father with something right now.”

“Okay.” Jack wanders off.

Castiel turns back to the sink with a smile, and the mushy feeling in Dean’s gut increases tenfold.

Yep, it’s official. He’s screwed.

* * *

“Where is he?” Zachariah demands.

“Something’s different in here. Did you redecorate?”

“Where _is_ he, Gabriel?”

“Is it the furniture? The carpet?”

“Don’t change the subject, you little miscreant,” Zachariah snarls. “Tell me where he is.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was digging the whole Apple Store vibe, but this is better. Kinda like ‘airport lounge meets Marriott convention center.’”

Zachariah slams his fist down on the desk, his jowly face rigid with anger. “I have a meeting in eighteen minutes. If you haven’t given me Castiel’s location by then, I’ll file an official complaint with management.”

“You know, that would be _so_ much scarier if it actually meant something.” Gabriel unwraps a watermelon-flavored lollipop and sticks it in his mouth. “You think God actually _reads_ your little report cards? That’s adorable.”

“An angel is missing,” Zachariah hisses, leaning forward. “An angel who is currently on trial for disobeying orders. Do you understand how _bad_ this makes me look, Gabriel? My _career_ is at stake. I could lose my _job._ ”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Mr. Potato Head when you get super mad?”

Zachariah’s buggy eyes get even buggier. “If you’re not going to help me, why are you still in my office?”

“Good question.” Gabriel crumples the lollipop wrapper and tosses it on the floor. “Guess I just like the ambiance.”

“Get out.”

“Make me,” Gabriel taunts. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t. Because I’m an archangel, and you’re nothing but a petty little pencil pusher. So go ahead and suck it, spuds.”

“I’m calling Naomi,” Zachariah threatens, picking up the phone.

“Oh, goody!” Gabriel claps his hands together. “I haven’t seen Miss Pantsuit in a while. Does she still have that ‘may I speak to the manager’ haircut?”

“Is everything a joke to you?”

“I’m a trickster,” Gabriel replies, snapping his fingers. A row of Mr. Potato Head dolls appear on Zachariah’s desk. “It’s part of the job description.”

* * *

“And you have no family?” Sheriff Jody Mills says, scribbling on her memo pad. “No friends in the area?”

“No,” Castiel answers. He’s sitting next to Dean on the couch, hands clasped between his knees. “I… can’t seem to remember anything before the fall. I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Jody reassures him. “I’ll put out a missing person report this afternoon. I don’t know how far we’ll get with only a first name, but it can’t hurt.” She puts her pad away and stands up. Dean and Castiel follow suit. “You sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, “but I will be fine.”

“Sure,” Jody says, glancing at Dean. “Dean, can I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

Once in the kitchen, Jody drops her professional demeanor. “What the hell, Dean?” she demands, voice low but still forceful. “You let a complete stranger sleep here overnight with your kids in the house? What were you thinking?”

“I _wasn’t_ thinking, okay?” Dean snaps. “I was half-asleep and if I could do it over again, I’d probably make a better call, but it happened and I can’t change it now. And I’d _really_ appreciate it if you didn’t broadcast this all over town. I get enough attention as it is.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Jody gives him an exaggerated pout. “Being the most eligible bachelor in town can be such a _burden_ sometimes.”

“Don’t start with me. What’s gonna happen to Cas?”

“Cas?” Jody raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah, _Cas_.” Dean glares at her. “After you file the report, what happens to him?”

Jody shrugs. “There’s really not much we can do, other than give him a list of local resources. Homeless shelters, soup kitchens, that kind of thing. If he had some ID we could hook him up with social services and assign him a caseworker, but without it...” She shakes her head, and Dean can sense her frustration. Jody’s a lot like him in certain ways. When she can’t fix something, she feels like a failure.

“What if…” Dean hesitates. He can’t quite believe what he’s about to say. “What if someone wanted to take him in? You know, like give him a place to stay until his family tracks him down?”

Jody narrows her eyes. “Dean Winchester, you’d better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

* * *

Saturday dawns bright and cold with a fresh layer of snow on the ground. Since Castiel doesn’t have any clothes, Dean lends him some, which may have been a mistake because when Cas comes downstairs wearing one of Dean’s flannels over a faded Zeppelin tee, Dean temporarily loses the ability to speak. Possessive heat curls through his belly and he has a sudden, crazy urge to bury his face in Cas’ chest and breathe in.

Ben catches sight of Cas and giggles. “You look like Dad.”

“Oh.” Cas looks down at himself, then glances at Dean. “Yes, I suppose I do.” And then, oh sweet Lord, he smiles, a soft, almost shy thing that makes Dean literally go weak in the knees. Jesus. He has _got_ to get a grip. Castiel’s memory could kick in at any moment, and once it does, he’ll probably remember that he has a wife and kids waiting for him somewhere. _Stop perving on the amnesia patient, you freak._

Despite the usual morning drama (Ben and Jack fight over a shirt they both insist is theirs, Ben has a meltdown because Jack ate the last of the corn flakes, Jack goes outside to get the paper without shoes or socks on, _again_ ) Dean manages to get the boys bundled up and out the door before ten o’clock. He owes a lot of that to Cas, honestly. It’s nice having an extra pair of hands to carry stuff, open doors, help the kids zip their coats and tie their shoes. Really nice. Cas is super patient and the boys actually _listen_ when he asks them to do something, which is a minor miracle. It’s probably because Cas is still new— God knows they don’t behave nearly this well for Sam or Eileen or the grandparents— but Dean’s gonna take what he can get.

They’re meeting Charlie at the Winter Wonderland Festival downtown, mostly just to wander around and entertain the kids, but possibly do some shopping, too. Cas seems to find everything about the journey fascinating, even ordinary things like filling up the Impala’s gas tank. He spends most of the drive with his face glued to the window, taking in the sights of their little town all dressed up for Christmastime. He reminds Dean of Jack and Ben as toddlers, when everything was new and exciting and met with wide-eyed wonder. It’s kinda cute.

Jack seems to have decided that Cas is his responsibility, because as soon as they arrive downtown, he immediately grabs hold of Cas’ hand and doesn’t let go. He reminds Cas to look both ways before crossing the street, and points out important places Cas should know about, like the ice cream shop, the library, and the children’s museum. It’s pretty damn adorable. And it leaves Dean free to corral Bennis the Menace, who keeps trying to pick up every rock and bottle cap and piece of glass in sight.

They finally reach the little coffee shop on the square. Dean grins when the boys spot Charlie and take off down the sidewalk towards her, squealing with excitement. Charlie crouches down and wraps both of them in a hug, then stands up, beaming.

“Hey, Red.” Dean pulls her into a one-armed embrace and plants a kiss on her forehead. “Good to see you.”

“You, too,” Charlie says, then catches sight of Castiel standing awkwardly off to one side. “Who’s your friend?”

“Uh,” Dean says, brought up short. “This is Cas. He, uh…”

“He falled from the sky,” Ben says helpfully.

“Like Superman,” Jack adds.

“I’m staying with Dean temporarily,” Cas says. “Until my memory returns.”

Charlie turns to Dean with raised eyebrows. 

“It’s a long story,” he says weakly.

“Uh huh.” She squints at him, and he can practically see the gears turning in her brain. “Let’s get some coffee and then you can fill me in.”

Once all adults are properly caffeinated, the boys insist on visiting the park. They also insist that Cas come with them, which means that he winds up acting as playground supervisor while Charlie and Dean find a nearby bench to sit and catch up. It’s there that Charlie pulls the entire story out of Dean, mumbled in between sips of dark roast and bites of blueberry scone.

When he reaches the end, she doesn’t say anything for a minute or two, just gazes thoughtfully across the snowy ground to where Cas is pushing Jack and Ben on swings.

“So,” she finally says. “You just…invited a random guy to stay with you.”

“He has a name, Charlie.”

“A _first_ name. Convenient he doesn’t have a last one, don’t you think?”

“Listen, if he wanted to steal from me, he’s had ample opportunity already,” Dean counters. “The guy’s in a tough spot, so I’m helping him out. That’s all.”

“Uh huh. And how long are you planning on ‘helping him out?’”

“I don’t know.” Dean watches Cas give one twin a push, then the other, movements careful and measured. “I haven’t had much time to think about it.”

“It’s been over twenty-four hours. That’s plenty of time.” Charlie shifts slightly on the bench so she’s looking Dean right in the eye. “Something tells me you just don’t _want_ to think about it.”

Dean squints back at her. “Whatever you’ve got to say, say it.”

The corner of Charlie’s mouth turns upward. “You’ve got a crush.”

Dean nearly spits out his coffee. “I do _not_ ,” he splutters.

“Please. You’re _totally_ smitten.” Charlie’s full-on smirking now. “I mean, I get it. He’s dreamy. If I swung that way, I’d definitely hit that.”

“I am not _smitten_ ,” Dean insists. The tips of his ears are getting uncomfortably hot. “He’s just a guy. That I met. A friend. Well, not really a friend _yet_ , but he’s just a dude. That I know. Shut up,” he adds, because Charlie is shaking with silent laughter. “It’s not like that, okay?”

Charlie deepens her voice to sound like Dean. “Hey, uh, Cas, you wanna maybe, uh… like, live together and take my kids to the park and wear my clothes? You know, because you’re just a dude that I know.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Dean repeats, his face burning.

“He likes you too,” Charlie says in her regular voice.

“Does not,” Dean mutters.

“Does too. I saw him smiling at you at least three times in the past hour.”

“That’s not— wait, really?”

“God, you are so oblivious.” Charlie sighs. “It’s a good thing I’m around.”

* * *

Gabriel enters his apartment (one of many he has on Earth), flops onto his leather couch, and turns on the television. Within seconds, he brings up a satellite view of Lawrence, Kansas, then zooms in on the town’s newest resident.

“Oho!” he says gleefully. “Charming the local bachelor already, are we Cassie?” He shakes his head, grinning. “You _really_ don’t know how to keep a low profile, baby bro.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s kind of amazing how quickly life with Cas becomes routine. After just a few days, Dean honestly can’t remember how they got along without him. The house is less messy, the boys go to bed on time with no complaints, and everything just feels… better. It’s crazy, and yet, Dean can’t help but wonder if Cas was somehow _meant_ to find them. He doesn’t believe in all that fate and destiny crap, but he believes in what he sees in front of him. Cas is steady, calm, taking everything in stride with unflappable ease. He just _fits_ , somehow.

Life’s been hard since Lisa died. Sometimes really hard. Dean’s doing the best he can, but he worries it’s not enough, that Jack and Ben aren’t getting enough of his time, his attention, his love. It’s an old fear, brought on by memories of his own childhood, when his mom died and his dad coped by hitting the bottle and distancing himself from everyone, especially his sons. Deep down, Dean’s afraid he’s going to make the same mistakes, even though Sam and Bobby and the rest constantly reassure him that’s never going to happen.

Cas being here settles some of those worries and doubts. They don’t go away completely, but they fade into the background, barely a buzz. They don’t keep Dean up at night anymore.

Well. That’s not entirely true. He’s still having trouble sleeping, just for different reasons.

Look, he’s only human, okay? He has needs. Most of the time he’s too tired and stressed for the thought of sex to even cross his mind, but lately? Now that he’s got someone else sharing the load? Yeah, that’s freeing up his mind for all _kinds_ of stuff. He can’t stop thinking about broad shoulders, delicious tanned skin, firm biceps, big strong hands... and those wings. He _really_ wants to feel those wings. Trace them with his fingertips, taste them with his tongue, feel them flutter and tremble under his touch...

It’s becoming a problem.

And it’s not even just about sex. If it was, things might be simpler. Easier to ignore. But every time Cas does something like listen to Ben’s rambling description of a dream as if it’s the most riveting story he’s ever heard, or solemnly pretend to eat the imaginary food Jack cooked in the Fisher Price play kitchen, Dean gets a warm, mushy feeling in his stomach that’s far, far more dangerous than just plain lust.

So of course, when Ellen and Bobby’s annual “Christmas at the Roadhouse” shindig rolls around, Dean does the smart thing. He gets a sitter for the night and invites Cas to come along.

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Cas says as he slides into the Impala’s passenger seat. “Why aren’t Jack and Ben coming with us?”

“Because,” Dean says, starting up Baby’s engine with a satisfying rumble, “sometimes you need just a break from the kids.”

“I don’t see why,” Cas says, still frowning. “They are delightful to spend time with.”

Dean snorts, even as Cas’ words stir up those stupid, mushy feelings again. “Yeah, well, you’ve only spent a few days with ’em. Trust me, once the honeymoon phase wears off, you’re gonna take every chance you get to have a moment to yourself.”

“I suppose,” Cas says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. “Now, tell me again what I should expect at this ‘shindig.’” He actually uses _air quotes_ for that last word. What a dork.

“Don’t worry about it so much,” Dean says, like _he_ hasn’t been obsessively thinking about this and second-guessing himself all day. “It’s just a casual thing. Everybody brings a dessert, Bobby and Ellen auction stuff off for charity, and Charlie always comes up with some stupid gimmick to get people to bid. People eat and drink and have a good time. It’s just for fun.”

“I see. And you will be there with me? You won’t leave me alone?”

A bright, protective spark flares in Dean’s chest. “No, Cas. I won’t leave you alone.”

“Good.” Cas settles back against the headrest. “I’m quite apprehensive about meeting so many strangers. It will be much easier if you’re with me.”

The spark burns hotter, and Dean resists the urge to reach over and pat Cas’ knee. “Don’t worry,” he says again, voice a little hoarse. “I got you.”

The party’s in full swing when they arrive. Ellen’s tending bar, the ever-present towel hanging off her shoulder. Bobby’s playing cards with Rufus and a bunch of old farts from the VFW. Ash and Garth are onstage playing Christmas tunes on bass guitar and banjo, which _should_ sound awful but actually kind of works. Charlie’s running around like a headless chicken for no apparent reason, and Jo is _supposed_ to be greeting people at the door, but she seems more interested in picking her fingernails with a pocketknife.

“You’re a crappy hostess,” Dean informs her as he and Cas hang up their coats.

“That’s the goal.” Jo gives Cas a long, lingering look Dean doesn’t care for one bit. “So _you’re_ the mystery man Charlie won’t shut up about. I can see why.”

Cas does that confused head tilt again. “I’m Castiel. And you are?”

“Joanna Harvelle. But you can call me Jo.” She smirks. “Or anything you want, really.”

“Okay,” Dean cuts in loudly, nudging Cas towards the dining area. “Why don’t you go grab us a table, bud?”

As soon as Cas is out of earshot, Jo gets a wicked gleam in her eye. “It’s Dean the Green-Eyed Monster,” she says in a singsong voice. “Haven’t seen him since junior prom.”

“Shut your face,” Dean growls, “or I’ll tell your mom who you hooked up with that night.”

“Gross. Go sit with your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my—”

“Dean!” Two familiar arms encircle him from behind and lift him up off the floor. “How’s it going, jerk?”

“Let go, bitch.” Dean kicks backward and Sam drops him with a yelp.

“You’ve gotten mean in your old age,” he says, rubbing his shin. 

“Old and bitter, that’s me.” Dean narrows his eyes at Sam’s wife, who’s got their six-month-old balanced on one hip. “You brought the chicken nugget?”

“Relax,” Eileen signs. “She’ll probably sleep the whole time.”

“Probably.” Dean glares at the baby. “Behave, you little punk. No crying, got it?” Mary smiles and holds out one chubby arm towards him. Dean sighs. The kid’s too damn cute and she knows it. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, taking the baby from Eileen. “Wanna come sit with me and Cas?”

“Cas?” Sam echoes with a smirk. “Is that what we’re calling him now?”

Dean ignores him and carries Mary over to the corner table Cas has staked out. Sam and Eileen trail behind him, signing a conversation too fast for Dean to follow. 

Cas’ eyes go wide as he sees the baby, and a soft smile spreads over his face. “Hello,” he says as Dean sits down beside him. “Who is this?”

“This my niece, Mary Ellen Winchester. Product of these two dorks, my brother Sam and my sister-in-law Eileen.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eileen signs. 

To everyone’s surprise, Cas signs back, “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Dude,” Dean says, “you know ASL?”

Cas looks as befuddled as everyone else. “Apparently so.”

“That’s so interesting,” Sam says excitedly. “I’ve read studies where people who’ve suffered concussions suddenly develop new skills. I wonder if that happened to you.”

“Don’t go all geeky on him, Sam,” Dean groans. “He’s not a lab rat.”

Cas doesn’t appear bothered; in fact, he hardly seems to have heard their exchange. His attention is entirely on the baby, who’s grabbed hold of his finger and is now gnawing on it enthusiastically.

“She’s beautiful,” he informs Eileen, who beams. “And very smart.”

“Yeah, and she’s getting drool all over you.” Dean reaches forward and snags a napkin off the table. Without thinking, he takes hold of Cas’ wrist and wipes it off. “Yuck,” he tells Mary. “You’re gross, you know that? Soggy baby.”

Mary just smiles and keeps chewing on Cas’ finger. Dean balls up the napkin, then spots Sam watching him with an odd expression.

“What?” he says defensively. 

Sam shrugs, that little smirk back on his face. “Nothing.”

* * *

It’s the best night Dean’s had in quite a while. Maybe because for once, he’s not worried about leaving the kids. Jody and Donna are the best babysitters ever; in fact, the boys are probably safer at _their_ house than they are at his. He’s got his phone turned on just in case, but he’s still able to relax more than he expected.

It might also have something to do with the company. Nearly all of his favorite people are in the same room, and it’s great to catch up with everyone who walks by their table. Dean gets a kick out of introducing people to Cas, because Cas greets every new person like they’re the freaking Pope, standing up and shaking hands and gazing at them earnestly while saying things like, “Dean speaks very highly of you,” or “I understand you are the proprietor of this establishment.” The look on Bobby’s face when Cas refers to him as Dean’s “surrogate father” is _priceless_. 

Bobby must not be too pissed about it though, because while Ellen is cooing over the baby, he takes Dean aside and slips a plain white envelope into his hand. Dean starts to protest, but Bobby glares at him so fiercely that he shuts up.

“Ain’t nobody who deserves it more,” Bobby says gruffly. “Buy yourself something nice for once, princess. And if you ever mention this again, I’ll deck you.”

Emotion wells up in Dean’s chest. He wants nothing more than to wrap Bobby in a hug, but he also doesn’t feel like getting punched in the jaw, so he just mutters a thank-you and tucks the envelope into his pocket, resolving that next year, _he’ll_ be the one who hands Bobby a check.

“Attention, everyone!” Charlie’s standing onstage, microphone in hand and a huge grin on her face, which usually means she’s got something evil up her sleeve. 

“Uh-oh,” Dean says as he sits back down.

“Is something wrong?” Cas asks.

“Not yet. But knowing Charlie, there will be.” Dean slouches in his seat, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“As you know, every year we auction off something for charity,” Charlie continues, her gleeful smile still in place. “Last year it was free burgers from the Roadhouse. The year before it was free oil changes from Singer’s Auto. But at the end of the day, those are just _things_ , folks. So we thought, what if this year, we offered an unforgettable _experience_ instead?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Dean mutters.

“That’s right!” Charlie cries. “Get out your pocketbooks, ladies and gentlemen, because this year, we’re auctioning off dates with Lawrence’s most eligible bachelors. Starting with the one and only Mr. Bobby Singer! Get on up here, Bobby!”

There’s a chorus of catcalls and jeers as Bobby trudges up on stage, his face beet red under his baseball cap. Ellen’s laughing harder than anyone, but once the bidding starts, she edges out both Sue from the post office and Liz from the library without even breaking a sweat. The other women accept defeat graciously, and Ellen marches up to claim her prize by planting a big smacking kiss on Bobby’s cheek, which has both Sam and Dean howling. Now they know why Bobby agreed to this in the first place.

“Okay, settle down everybody,” Charlie bellows over the noise. “There’s plenty more where that came from! And remember guys, it’s all for charity, so step up, don’t be shy! The more we get, the more we raise for the food pantry!”

The next volunteer is, to Dean’s disgust, Cole Trenton, who swaggers up flexing his muscles and flashing a smarmy grin. Some waifish blonde who works at the truck stop two towns over snags him almost immediately, probably because everybody who lives here already knows that Cole’s a first-rate dick and wouldn’t be caught dead on a date with him.

Third up is Garth, who gets a flurry of bids, but ultimately it’s Ash who triumphs, sweeping Garth up in a bridal carry that has everyone cheering and wolf-whistling. Fourth is one of the old farts from the VFW, who gets snagged by an equally old gal from the retirement home. Fifth is—

“Castiel!” Jo shouts, appearing out of nowhere and seizing Cas by the arm. “Get on up there, mystery man! I got fifty bucks that says you’re mine.”

Dean’s stomach clenches unpleasantly, but he doesn’t have time to lodge a complaint because Jo’s already pushing Cas up the rickety stairs leading to the stage. Once up there, he stands stiffly under glowing red and green lights, looking totally out of place in his wrinkled suit and crooked tie. His hair is askew and his blue eyes are wide, almost scared. 

_And you’ll be there? You won’t leave me?_

Protectiveness surges up in Dean’s chest and he clenches his jaw. What a shitty thing for Jo to do, shoving Cas into the spotlight when he doesn’t even fully understand what’s going on.

“Ten bucks!” a girl shouts.

“Twenty!” Jo counters.

“Twenty-five!”

“Thirty!”

Cas looks ready to bolt, and Dean’s starting to get pissed off. This isn’t cool. It’s not okay. They don’t even know Cas. All they see is a random hot guy who’s good for one night of fun. Scowling, Dean pulls out his wallet and thumbs through it. Only a few wrinkled ones and some change. Damn it. He starts going through the rest of his pockets as the bidding continues, mostly between Jo and another girl Meg, who’s looking at Cas like she wants to eat him alive.

“Fifty!”

“Fifty-five!”

“Sixty!”

They don’t care that he’s good with kids, or likes babies, or uses air quotes, or does the dishes without being asked. They don’t know that he looks like a confused owl when he doesn’t get pop culture references, or that he gets excited about things like automatic light timers and garage door openers. They don’t know that he’ll read the same book to Jack and Ben three times if they ask, or that he looks at Dean like he’s someone really special, even though he’s not.

“Seventy-five!”

“Eighty!”

“Eighty-five!”

Dean’s fingers brush against the envelope Bobby handed him earlier, and in sudden, wild desperation, he rips it open.

Well. It’s definitely enough to buy something nice. 

Dean stands up and takes a deep breath. “Five hundred and four dollars and eighty-eight cents,” he yells. 

“SOLD!” Charlie shrieks, and the crowd goes _nuts_. Sam whistles, the VFW guys catcall, and Jo looks ready to rip Dean’s throat out. But Dean only has eyes for one person, and he’s still frozen in place, as though he hasn’t fully registered what just happened.

Dean kicks his chair aside and strides up to the stage. He’s going to get _so much crap_ from everyone after this, but the sheer relief and stunned gratitude in Cas’ eyes when he realizes that Dean is coming to his rescue is worth every ounce of humiliation. 

He reaches the edge of the platform and holds out his hand. “Heya, Cas,” Dean says, softly so that no one else can hear. “Why don’t you come on down from there?”

Wordlessly, Cas steps forward, grasps Dean’s hand with warm, trembling fingers, and lets Dean guide him down the wooden steps. Whoops and good-natured jeers follow them all the way back to their table, and Dean’s face is on fire, but that doesn’t stop him from grinning like a fool. 

By the time they’re sitting down again, the auction has resumed, although Dean doesn’t hear a word of it. He and Cas can’t seem to stop smiling goofily at one another, and they still haven’t let go of each other’s hands. It should feel embarrassing and awkward and forced, but it doesn’t. It just feels good.

Sam seems to have realized Dean’s in no mood for teasing, because he doesn’t make any jokes or snarky comments. He just puts his arm around Eileen and grins at both of them. And that’s how the evening ends, with Dean sitting across from his brother, cozied up with the hottest guy in the room.

Yeah. It’s definitely the best night he’s had in a while. Maybe ever.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s nearly nine o’clock and a light snow has started to fall by the time they head out. Everything is still and quiet, the sky inky black and dotted with stars. Dean hesitates only a split-second before reaching out to Cas, and then they’re strolling across the snowy parking lot, arm in arm like a couple of damn Disney characters.

“You do realize what this means,” Cas says once they reach the Impala.

“What’s that?”

“I have to take you on a date.”

Dean laughs, feeling his ears turn warm. “You don’t _have_ to, man. Only if you want to.”

“I want to,” Cas says seriously. “Very much.” 

All of a sudden he’s up in Dean’s space, close and warm, not quite touching him but making it clear that he _could_ , if that’s something Dean wants. There are flecks of snow in Cas’ hair, his cheeks are pink with cold, and he’s so damn beautiful Dean can hardly stand it.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Cas whispers.

Dean swallows hard and licks his lips. “Sure, Cas. You can tell me anything.”

Cas continues to stare at him, eyes dark and piercing, like he’s trying to peer inside Dean’s soul. Maybe he is. So much of Castiel is still a mystery, but Dean can’t wait to solve more of the puzzle.

“I don’t care if I ever remember who I am,” Cas says softly. “I’m happy now. With you. You and Jack and Ben.” He pauses, nodding to himself. “I don’t want to remember anything else.”

Dean can’t breathe. He’s suffocating, pinned under that intense gaze, but he doesn’t feel powerless. He feels like he could do anything— lift a car, fly to the moon, kiss Cas.

Shit. _Is_ he kissing Cas?

He is. He’s got his hands wrapped around Cas’ neck and he’s practically _devouring_ Cas’ mouth, licking and sucking and nipping at those gorgeous lips, and Cas is letting out these quiet little moans that light Dean up from the inside out. He slides his hands down Cas’ back, caressing him through layers of clothing, wishing it wasn’t so damn cold and he could undress them both right here.

Cas sighs and leans into him, hands snaking around Dean’s waist, pulling him flush against his body. Dean widens his stance, just a little, enough so that Cas can slot a thigh in between his, and oh sweet Jesus it’s _so good_. So hot and soft and comforting, like slipping into a warm bath after a long cold day. It feels like home.

Home. Where the kids are.

“Shit,” Dean gasps, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “We can’t— we need to get back. Kids are waiting.”

Cas makes an unhappy sound and tries to capture his mouth again, but Dean ducks, shaking his head. “We gotta go. I promised Jody I’d pick them up by nine.”

“Just a few minutes,” Cas begs. “Please. I love this so much.”

“Damn it, Cas.” Dean closes his eyes, because the sight of Cas’ swollen, kiss-bitten lips is _way_ too fucking hot. “Just— let’s just wait til we get home, okay? We’ll get the boys tucked in, I’ll light a fire in the fireplace, then we can get all cuddled up on the couch and pick up where we left off. Okay?”

Cas still doesn’t look happy, but after a moment he steps back, face scrunched up in an adorable pout. 

“Fine,” he says, “but _hurry_ Dean. I want to start our date as soon as possible.”

* * *

Someone up there must be smiling down on him, Dean thinks as he deposits a sleeping Jack into the bottom bunk. Jody and Donna took the boys sledding for nearly two hours, so they were completely worn out by the time Dean picked them up. He barely got them into their pajamas before they crashed, and it’s not even ten o’clock yet. Score one for the Dean Love Machine.

Cas is waiting in the living room when he comes back downstairs, sitting all prim and proper on the couch. He’s still wearing that dumb trenchcoat, and with a shock Dean realizes that Cas looks exactly the same as he did on the night they met. Was that really only five days ago? It seems so much longer.

He edges into the room, feeling weirdly shy all of a sudden. His earlier burst of confidence has faded and doubt is starting to take its place. This is a pretty stupid idea, all things considered. Cas’ real family is going to show up any day now, and then he’ll have no reason to stay. _Great job, Dean, picking the one guy who can’t commit long-term. It’s like you want your relationships to fail before they even start. Dr. Phil would have a fucking field day with you._

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Cas says.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, toeing the edge of the frayed carpet. “I do that.”

“If you come sit down, maybe I can help.”

Dean lets out a nervous laugh. “You sweet-talkin’ me, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas says, deadly serious. “Please come here.” He pats the cushion beside him.

Well, he can’t really say no to that. Dean shuffles over to the couch and sinks down next to Cas, a blush rising in his cheeks as he stares at the floor.

“You’re nervous,” Cas says, blunt as ever. “Why?”

Dean shrugs, his face getting warmer by the second. “It’s been a while,” he admits. “And to be honest, I’m not totally sure we’re on the same page.”

“The same page?”

“Yeah, you know…” Dean takes a deep breath. Might as well rip the band-aid off before they start ripping off clothes. “I don’t really do casual dating, Cas. Not anymore. If I’m gonna be with someone, I need to know they’re gonna… stick around.”

“And you don’t think I will.” Cas’ tone is flat, but there’s a hint of hurt underneath.

Dean shrugs again, helplessly. “I mean, what if your memory comes back? What if you wake up one day and remember you’ve got a family? And besides, we’ve known each other for what? Five days? That’s _way_ too fast.”

“Too fast for what?”

Dean’s stomach drops. “Uh…” Crap. “It’s just… it’s too soon to be thinking about… you know.” He clears his throat. “A relationship.”

“We already have a relationship, Dean,” Cas says, sounding puzzled.

“No, I mean…” Damn it, he’s blushing again. He needs friggin’ ice packs for his ears. “People usually wait more than five days before they… you know. Decide to be together. For the long haul.”

“Oh.” Cas’ face clears. “You mean if they decide to become mates.”

“Well.” Dean coughs. “We don’t… really call it that, but… yeah. If they decide they want to commit to a long-term thing, then people usually spend a lot of time getting to know each other. To make sure they’re compatible.”

A pause. “That makes sense,” Cas says, his expression thoughtful. “They would want to be sure their life goals are similar. That they want the same things.”

“Yeah.” Dean nods vigorously. “Exactly.”

“And if they have children,” Cas continues, “they would need to agree on how best to raise them.”

“For sure. Very important.”

“They would probably also like to meet the potential partner’s extended family.”

“Yeah, I mean… not required, but yeah.”

“I see.” There’s a much longer pause, and Dean’s stomach tenses up. This is it. This is the part where Cas decides Dean isn’t worth the risk, and leaves without ever looking back.

So he’s surprised when Cas reaches out and cups his chin in one hand, gently turning his head towards Cas’ face. Cautiously, Dean looks up to see Cas gazing at him very earnestly.

“We’ve done all of those things, Dean,” he says.

Dean blinks. “Huh?”

“We’ve already done those things,” Cas repeats. “I’ve met your extended family and your closest friends. We’ve shared living space and parenting duties. We find each other attractive and desirable. We seem to be compatible in many ways. I haven’t been able to contribute financially yet, but I can certainly seek employment if it would be helpful.” He smiles slightly. “The point is, Dean, that we’ve already met most of the criteria necessary for a successful long-term partnership. If we’d known each for five years instead of five days, would it really make that much difference?”

Dean’s mouth has gone bone dry. This is crazy. This is absolutely crazy. Dean Winchester does not do romantic, impulsive, crazy shit like this. And yet…

“What about your life?” he croaks, the words sounding feeble even to his own ears. “What if you have a family waiting for you somewhere?”

“It’s been five days, Dean,” Cas says, his smile tinged with sadness. “If I had a family, I’m fairly certain they would have found me by now.” He puts his other hand on Dean’s knee, gazing at him with soft, adoring eyes. Dean swears he can see them glow.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Cas murmurs. “I don’t care if I ever remember who I was before. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing _you_ , Dean. You and Jack and Ben. I want to be part of your family, for however long you’ll have me.”

Dean opens his mouth, but no words come out. Then he figures he probably doesn’t need to say anything, so he kisses Cas instead. This turns out to be a very good decision, because it makes Cas practically melt against him and start making those little moaning sounds again, his grip tightening on Dean’s knee. Instinctively Dean takes Cas’ hand and guides it up his thigh to rest on his hip, then wriggles closer and wraps both arms around Cas’ waist. Perfect.

For a while, the room is silent except for the wet, sloppy sounds of kissing, punctuated with soft gasps and whispered endearments. Cas’ mouth is sweet and lush, his tongue hot and slick between Dean’s lips, his stubble rasping against Dean’s chin like sandpaper. He plunges his hands in Cas’ thick hair and rakes his fingers through it, making Cas hum and push up into the touch like a cat being petted.

Somehow Dean manages to push Cas’ coat off his shoulders without breaking their kiss, and Cas worms his way out of the sleeves, making a frustrated noise when one of his arms gets stuck. For some reason Dean finds this wildly funny (like seriously, why the fuck didn’t Cas take off his coat _before_ sitting down?) and Cas’ annoyed expression just makes him laugh harder. Cas puts a stop to that by pushing him backwards onto the couch (Dean definitely does _not_ let out an unmanly squeak) and drapes himself over Dean’s body, a challenging look in his eyes.

For a long moment he and Dean just stare at each other, breathing hard, and then Cas rolls his hips and Dean is fucking _gone_. He throws his head back against the arm of the couch and groans. “Oh God, Cas, do that again, it feels so good—”

A growl resonates deep in Cas’ throat and he grinds his hips down again, hard and filthy. Dean moans and reaches down to cup Cas’ firm ass in both hands. “Fuck,” he gasps, “keep going, don’t stop.”

“Dean,” Cas grates out, and the sheer amount of _lust_ in that deep voice sends Dean’s libido through the roof. He arches his back, pushing against the warm, heavy weight on top of him, while at the same time pressing down against Cas’ asscheeks, wanting more pressure, more friction, just more, more, more—

“Ohhh,” Cas moans, “Dean, you’re so good, so perfect, I want you so badly, oh _Dean—_ ”

Dean’s vision whites out, and without warning he tips over the edge, his entire body pulsing with pleasure. Cas follows seconds later, burying his face in Dean’s neck, making the most beautiful sounds as he comes, and then they collapse into each other’s arms, spent and sated and boneless.

They lie there for a long time, tangled up together, heedless of the mess they’ve made. Cas’ head is pillowed on Dean’s chest, rising and falling with each breath Dean takes. He strokes Cas’ hair, soft and silky, his other hand resting on Cas’ lower back, rubbing in slow circles. The room is dark and quiet, illuminated only by the glow of street lamps and snowflakes, falling in a thick white curtain outside the window. Dean doesn’t want to move ever again. This must be what Heaven feels like.

“I didn’t build a fire,” he says, realizing.

“I don’t think we needed one,” Cas answers, and Dean chuckles.

They lapse into contented silence again. Cas’ body is warm and heavy like a weighted blanket, and Dean’s eyes are starting to flutter shut. _Just a few minutes_ , he tells himself. Then they can get up, change their clothes, maybe shower. Mmm. Cas in the shower, naked and wet… that’s a nice visual.

Slowly but surely Dean drifts off, and he’s almost completely out when he suddenly gets a weird feeling. It’s the same one he gets when his sons stare at him while he’s sleeping. Cringing at the thought of having to explain to a pair of seven-year-olds why he and Cas are cuddling on the couch, Dean reluctantly opens his eyes.

It’s not Jack or Ben. 

It’s a stranger. Standing in the middle of his living room.

“What the hell?” Dean shouts, jerking up and sending Cas flying off him. He scrambles up from the couch and instinctively grabs the first object within reach, which turns out to be that stupid plush toy he stepped on the first morning Cas was here. The thing lights up and its furry limbs flail ridiculously as Dean raises it above his head.

“Who the hell are you?” he demands.

“YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND!” the toy sings happily.

“Not you!” Dean bellows. “I mean _you!_ ” He glares at the stranger, who still hasn’t moved a muscle. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

The stranger rolls his eyes. He’s a short guy with a slight build, dressed in a pink and orange Hawaiian shirt (which, what the fuck? It’s thirty degrees outside) and looks completely unimpressed with Dean’s weapon of choice, which is still singing at the top of its tiny mechanical lungs.

“Relax, Paul Bunyan,” he says in a bored tone. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to talk to my brother.” He looks past Dean. “Hey, Cassiopeia. How’s it hanging?”

“Brother?” Dean repeats, whirling on Cas. “This is your _brother_?”

Cas shakes his head, eyes huge as he stares at their unexpected guest. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Dad?” a small voice says. “What’s going on?”

Dean’s stomach lurches with fear, but Cas reacts quickly. In less than three seconds he’s crossed the room to stand protectively in front of Jack and Ben, who are at the foot of the stairs. Dean’s yelling must have woken them up.

“Who are you?” Jack asks, peeking around Cas to stare at Hawaiian Shirt Guy. “Are you Santa?”

“Am I Santa.” The man snorts. “Don’t insult me, kid. I’m _way_ better than Santa. I’m an archangel.”

“And I’m the Wicked Witch of the West,” Dean snaps. “Get out of my house or I’m calling the cops.”

The stranger glances at him with a crooked little smirk, like he knows something Dean doesn’t. His eyes have a strange, coppery sheen, and for a second they seem to glow. _Just like Castiel’s._

“What’s an archangel?” Ben asks. “Is it like Superman?”

“No, but you’re getting warmer.” The man looks around the room, rubbing a hand over his belly. “You got any candy or cookies around here? I’m craving something sweet.”

He snaps his fingers and disappears. Just _disappears_ into thin air like a goddamn fairy godmother. Dean feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“What?” he croaks. “Did you just…did you see... what just happened?”

From the kitchen comes the sound of cupboard doors opening and shutting. Dean, Cas, and the boys all exchange glances. Without a word, all four of them rush over to the kitchen doorway and poke their heads through, Stooge-style.

Hawaiian Shirt Guy is rummaging around in their pantry, apparently unaware that he just did something physically impossible. “Aha!” he says after a moment, and pulls out the tin of sugar cookies. “Perfect.” He pops open the tin, takes out a frosted reindeer, and bites its head off.

“What,” Dean says after a brief pause, “the actual fuck?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the man says, giving Dean a stern look. “Language, Mr. Winchester.”

“How do you—?”

“Know who you are?” He takes another bite of cookie. “Simple. I’m an archangel. I know everything.”

“Are you magic?” Jack asks, awestruck. 

“Sure am, kid,” the man replies with his mouth full. “Name’s Gabriel. One of God’s original four, although these days I mostly freelance. It’s how I hooked up with Castiel here.” He jerks his head at Cas, who still looks totally confused.

“I don’t know you,” he says.

Gabriel sighs, long and suffering. “See, this is why I shouldn’t get involved anymore. So much work.” He snaps his fingers again.

Castiel staggers sideways and lets out a cry of pain, then collapses on the kitchen floor, clutching his head in both hands.

“Cas!” Dean crouches down. “What’s wrong?” Cas doesn’t answer, just keeps holding his head, eyes squeezed shut like he has the world’s most terrible migraine. Dean looks up at Gabriel. “What did you do to him?”

“Relax, lover boy.” Gabriel is now chomping on a misshapen snowman. “He’ll be fine in a minute.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later Cas opens his eyes. As soon as they land on Dean, they go wide with something like fear.

“Cas?” Dean says cautiously.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks, squatting down beside them. “You falled down.”

“I…” Cas swallows. “I remember.”

“You remember?” Dean echoes. 

“I remember what happened,” Cas whispers. “Before I fell.” His voice cracks. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I never should have brought you into this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I… I’m an angel. Like Gabriel.”

Gabriel snorts. “Dude, don’t compare yourself to me. You’re a seraph, not an archangel. Totally different thing.”

“Okay,” Dean says, standing up and glaring at Gabriel. “Normally I’d say you’re both talking crap, but I _literally_ just saw you pull a Harry Potter, so...I’m listening. Explain.”

“Easy,” Gabriel says. “Angels are real.”

“Angels are real?” Jack reaches out and touches Castiel’s shoulder. “But you don’t have wings.”

Gabriel chuckles. “Oh, we have them. You just can’t see them.”

“Why not?”

“When we walk on Earth, we hide our wings from human eyes,” Castiel says quietly, but he’s not looking at Jack, or Ben. He’s watching Dean, that fearful look still in his eyes. It’s strange, because _Dean_ should be the one who’s afraid here, but he’s not. He just feels confused. And sad. Like he’s lost a piece of himself that he didn’t even realize was missing.

“How do you hide them?” Ben wonders. “Do you put them somewhere safe?”

Something clicks in Dean’s brain. “The tattoos,” he says, and Gabriel throws him a sharp look. “On your back. They’re not actually tattoos, are they?”

“No,” Cas says, sounding ashamed. “They aren’t.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “Cas,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly steady. “You need to tell me everything.”

* * *

So...angels are real. And apparently they are not fat babies with fluffy wings. They’re, like, actual warriors of God. Soldiers. And Cas is one of them.

“I disobeyed orders,” Cas explains. He’s sitting on the couch, and Dean is trying _very hard_ not to think about what they were doing in that exact spot less than an hour ago. At least Cas was a gentleman and magicked them both clean once he got his powers back. “A member of my garrison was wounded in battle, and my commander told me to leave him behind. I refused.”

“You always were a rebel,” Gabriel observes around a mouthful of peppermint bark.

“The penalty for disobeying a superior officer is severe,” Cas continues. “And I am not well-liked among most members of the Council, particularly Zachariah. If he was able to prove my guilt, he would then be able to go after members of my garrison as well. They could all be demoted or permanently discharged from the Host, which is one of the worst fates an angel can suffer. I couldn’t let that happen. So I asked Gabriel for help.”

“We figured that the best strategy was to hide Cassie and his troops on Earth,” Gabriel says. “None of those bureaucratic bozos ever come down here if they can help it. They _hate_ mingling with the dirty, smelly humans.”

“Smelly humans,” Ben repeats, giggling. He and Jack are sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree, listening to the story with rapt expressions.

“So I disguised each angel as a human and sent them to different locations on Earth,” Gabriel explains. “Quiet, low-profile places the Council wouldn’t think to search. And to be extra safe, I made them all _believe_ they were human, too. Not an easy thing to do, but I’m just that awesome.”

“Then why jog Cas’ memory?” Dean asks, deliberately not looking at Cas. “Actually, why come here at all?”

“Oh!” Gabriel snaps his fingers. Dean flinches, but apparently it’s just a regular snap this time, not the kind that turns them all into flamingos or some shit. “That reminds me.” Gabriel points at Cas. “Word on the heavenly street is that the Big Guy got wind of your rebellious ways, and he actually thinks you did the right thing. So he told Zachariah to let you off the hook.” 

There’s a long silence. Dean sneaks a glance at Cas. He looks stunned.

“The Holy Father has forgiven me?” he says at last.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Gabriel shrugs. “I think he just got sick of Zachariah’s whining and told him to shove it up his—” He stops abruptly, glancing at Jack and Ben. “Up, uh, the chimney.” He crams the last bit of peppermint bark into his mouth and wipes his hands on his shirt. “Anyhoo. You’re free and clear, as far as the Head Honcho is concerned. You can go back anytime.”

“Back?” Dean says blankly. “You mean... back to Heaven?”

“Uh, yeah.” Gabriel stares at Dean like he’s grown a second head. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“No!” Ben cries, scrambling up. “You can’t leave. You have to stay!”

“Don’t go,” Jack pleads. “You make us happy, You make _Dad_ happy.”

Stomach sinking, Dean forces himself to look at Castiel. The angel is still sitting on the couch, elbows on knees, shoulders slumped. _I knew it was too good to be true._

“Sorry, kiddos,” Gabriel says. “Most angels can’t be away from Heaven that long. Messes with their mojo. I mean, _I’ve_ been hanging out on this plane of existence for a good hundred years or so, but I’m the exception, not the rule.”

“Gabriel is correct,” Cas says quietly. “If I stay here as an angel, eventually my powers will fade. I will become physically ill and unable to function.” For the first time in what feels like forever, he looks at Dean, blue eyes bright and clear. “But there is another option.”

A spark of hope flares in Dean’s chest.

“Dude,” Gabriel exclaims. “Are you insane? You’ve known these people for what? A week?”

“Feels like longer,” Dean mumbles, and Cas smiles at him.

“I’ve served Heaven for eons,” he says. “I witnessed the birth of humanity, but I never actually spent time with humans. Now that I have, I’ve learned that they have much to teach us. About compassion. About joy, and sacrifice. And love.” 

“Okay, that’s it.” Gabriel stands up. “If I have to hear any more mushy stuff, I’m going to be sick. You want to stay here as a human? Fine. No skin off my nose. But for the love of all that’s holy, will you _please_ leave me out of your shenanigans from here on out?”

“You have my word,” Castiel promises. “And thank you, brother. For all your help.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “It was mildly entertaining, at least. Merry Christmas and all that crap. Ho, ho, ho.”

And with that, he snaps his fingers and disappears.

“So you’re staying?” Ben asks urgently, grabbing at Cas’ arm. “You’re staying here with us?”

Castiel hesitates and looks up at Dean, his expression almost shy. “If it’s all right with your father.”

“Can he, Dad? Please?” Jack jumps up and down.

Dean swallows past the lump that’s suddenly formed in his throat and smiles at his son. “Of course he can,” he answers. “He’s family.”


End file.
